


Isolation

by CaptainShade



Series: Whumptober 2020 [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Animal Attack, Drowning, F/M, Hellhounds, Isolation, Past Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester in Lucifer's Cage, Self-Harm, Sensory Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26998060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainShade/pseuds/CaptainShade
Summary: Whumptober 2020, Day 8--IsolationSensory deprivation torture in the Cage
Relationships: Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester
Series: Whumptober 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949092
Kudos: 8
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Isolation

Lucifer woke him up, Sam thought. He couldn’t really tell. Everything was pitch black, almost completely silent. He couldn’t feel ground beneath him or walls around him. The only thing indicating his consciousness was the fact that he could search for indications of consciousness. 

He still had his eyes and ears, he could still feel physical sensations, so he was lucky in comparison with how Michael liked to isolate him.

God, he hated when Lucifer trapped him like this. He always went a little mad with the isolation. 

He much preferred the pain over the isolation.

Sam didn't know how long he'd been floating there when the hallucinations started. 

He was familiar with the pattern by now, having been locked up enough in a makeshift sensory deprivation tank to be aware that they were hallucinations. 

Knowing what they were didn't dull the reactions, though, his mind blanking and spiraling in the dark. 

There were footsteps, heavy, deliberate. They slowly got closer and louder until Sam was sure someone was standing right beside him. They walked around behind him, just as slow. 

"Sammy," a voice sing-songed. It sounded like Lucifer, and Sam struggled to remember it wasn't actually Lucifer. 

A hand-- _ an imaginary hand, fuck _ \--a hand stroked through his hair, gently. 

“ _ Not real, not real, not real _ ,” Sam muttered to himself. 

“I’m just as real as you are, bunk buddy!”

_ No, not the mind games already, usually he doesn’t start with them for a while longer _

“So which is it? Am I real? Or are you not real? Just some atom’s imagination as it waits to be sucked into a black hole or something? Hey, it’s dark enough here, maybe you’re already in one.”

The hand in his hair wrenched his head back painfully, causing Sam to cry out. 

“Tick tock, better decide the truth soon.”

Footsteps, loud, then getting quieter as they walked away. Real? Or fake? 

His brain shuts down. He doesn’t remember waiting, suspended, in the concrete box Lucifer’s put him in. 

Then, humming. Softly at first, and he can barely hear the song, let alone remember where it’s from. 

A second voice, humming the same song but deeper. 

It gets louder, and he can just recognize it. 

The voices start singing with soothing voices.

“ _ Hey Jude,  _

_ “Don’t make it bad, _

_ “Take a sad song _

_ “And make it better _ .”

A hand settles itself confidently on his shoulder, gripping tight. Another, smaller, slides smoothly into his own hand, winding their fingers together. A third strokes over his cheek, heat radiating off to stop his shivering, and for a moment he swears he can feel lips on his. 

“ _ Remember to let her under your skin _

_ “Then you begin _

_ “To make it better _ .”

The hands flare gentle warmth before dropping away, as though giving him a last moment of love.

And then all hell breaks loose.

It starts with a low growling, bouncing off the walls and making it seem louder than it really is. 

Claws scratching on the floor. A snuffly sound followed by an unearthly howl. Unmistakeable.

Hellhound.

“No,  _ please _ , not this!” he cries, instinctively trying to throw himself back against the wall, and not going anywhere. 

The sounds get louder, multiplying. More than one,  _ oh god please save me _ . 

He can’t fight them off, can’t even move. Sitting ducks for the dogs.

They get closer. Sam can feel their hot breath on his fingers, hear the snapping of jaws as they fight for who gets the first shot. There’s three, circling him. 

He can’t even try to remember that this is all a hallucination.

The first one lunges with a swipe of burning claws at his chest, slamming him against the floor. A scream rips from his throat as another latches onto his shin, biting down hard enough to snap the bone. The first one is digging a fucking  _ hole _ in his chest trying to get to his heart and his mind just...checks out until they go away and leave him to die.

Water next. Drops onto concrete at first, then faster drops hitting water, then rushing water pouring into the room. 

He wouldn’t call out for Lucifer, he  _ wouldn’t _ !

He could feel water lapping over his feet, reaching his ankles quickly. Despite knowing how this room works, he tried to move himself, kicking frantic waves in the water and going nowhere. 

“No!” he screamed, feeling the water reaching his knees. He looked around desparately, hoping to see anything he might be able to use to get to safety. Nothing. Blackness everywhere. 

The water was at his hips in the blink of an eye--oh god losing time--and then his chest, his neck, Sam took a deep breath and held it, over his head--

Frantically trying to get up out of the water, wasting oxygen that he didn’t actually need--

Vision spotting, body heavy,  _ oh god he  _ hates _ the drowning deaths _ \--

And then its gone. 

Only the fearful shivers are left.

There is something under his skin, fire and pain wrapped up. If he could see, surely there’d be red spreading over his forearms and chest. He digs at his arms, trying to find the culprit. 

It’s been so long, hanging in the darkness and the silence, he doesn’t know if anything is real anymore. Is he dead for good? Did the hellhounds actually kill him? Were there any hellhounds in the first place?

He’s there, waiting, for what seems like an eternity, but his sense of time is so mangled by the dark and, yanno, being in  _ hell _ than he has no ideas where to start guessing. 

He just needs to feel something again. He’s tried biting at his arms, digging nails into his cheeks, but there is no sensation. 

He’s crying, maybe. He can’t feel tears, but he can hear his sobs and cries. 

His tortured heart makes the decision for him. 

“Lucifer,  _ please _ , get me out!  _ Help me _ !”

And as the firelight from the Cage breaks into his box, and Lucifer puts a freezing cold hand to his face, he leans into Him.


End file.
